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Slavery! (Brian Khast)


Slavery! by Brian Khast

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    • Average 2.8 from 5 ratings

The sequel to `FROM SLUT TO SLAVE` and the story continues, hotter and harder than before.

The Princess Lala had bought a consignment of slaves from a white slaver in England, and had them shipped out to her desert home. The newly arrived captives are in for many shocks as Princess Lala issues her orders. First they have to walk the three miles from the airport to the city, over burning sands and under blazing heat, urged on by the canes of their captors, scorned by the Princess' subjects when they arrive, sweating and smelly, in their new home. Then they are packed into barracks, there to fight over mattresses and bunks - all semblance of civilisation being stripped from them.

Then the true degradation begins, with anal abuse, gang banging, degradation and humiliation in every way possible. The Princess only wants to please the guests to her 'Pleasurepalace' and what better way than to (ab)use untrained, unwilling captives from the higher reaches of English society?

And a taster...

The whip cracked across the back of her thighs and her howl was less than human. Liquid squirted as she lost control of her bladder. The pencil slipped from her anus and clattered on the floor.
“So you want the men to fuck you?”
“Yes - yes,” she panted...

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 4 / 2011

No. words: 34480

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Sex Slavery / Training

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Excerpt

Elizabeth Berisford woke slowly. She was stiff in every limb. Her breasts, back and buttocks were aching abominably. So disorientated was she that it took a moment or two to recollect the gang abuse and severe beating she had suffered so recently.
She could hear the buzz of agitated female voices about her. It was hot. Damned hot! The very air that she was breathing seemed heated and she experienced the uncomfortable, sultry wetness of humidity. Cautiously she raised herself and looked around, pulling the skimpy nylon wrap closer to her body. She and the other women were in what appeared to be a large oblong box, which was lined with some sort of vinyl padding. There were no obvious doors or windows but Elizabeth noticed small holes in the roof that served to let in sufficient air and some small degree of light. Nor was the general smell enticing, being composed of stale air, unwashed bodies, hot vinyl and a mix of disintegrating perfumes. It was clear from their uncertain movements and jaded expressions that most of the other women were as disorientated as Elizabeth herself.
Shoes and handbags were strewn around the floor of the box. Some of these were being retrieved by their owners but most of the women stood around or sat on the floor looking dazed and dejected.
Memory flooded back to her. The white overalled men accompanied by the young thugs moving down the line of cells, entering each one in turn and injecting the occupant with syringes. Elizabeth recalled the panic as the women realised what was happening. There had been screams, defiance and cries for mercy. The black girl in the white dress had fought like a tigress when they entered her cell and her kicking feet had left one of the men writhing on the floor. However, she had no real chance; any more than did Elizabeth herself, who had also put up a stiff resistance in spite of the beating and violation she had suffered so recently.
God, it was hot and the box stank to high heaven! She looked around the dimly lit space again and recognised the pretty black girl standing against the wall of the box; her once elegant white cocktail dress already stained with perspiration. The lawyer, Sally Stone, grim faced, was standing close by, equally sweaty, her sensible clothes rumpled and her previously impeccable hair disordered.
With a loud clang, one end of the box swung open, flooding it with daylight. The contrast with the previous gloom made the women clutch at their eyes and there were several cries of alarm.
A figure appeared in the doorway. It was a Negro, shaven headed, ugly as sin and clad only in red pantaloons and leather sandals. He sported a heavy gold medallion at his throat and clutched a long, thin cane. He swished it menacingly.
“Out, sluts! Welcome to Khastan. Out into the fresh air. I am Baka, Head of the Palace Guards and I have delicate nostrils. It stinks in here like a Persian brothel. Get your shoes on or you’ll scorch your smelly feet.”
The words were spoken in guttural but clearly recognisable English.
The women needed little invitation. All wanted to be out of this stifling prison. They grabbed up their shoes and handbags, a procedure that caused some delay and confusion, then stumbled out into the hot but hazy sunlight. It was immediately obvious that they were no longer in England. The landscape was stark combination of sand and shale with a few scrubby bits of vegetation scattered around. It was a desert scene with desert heat to match.
Elizabeth grunted as the painful welts on her body began to sting again but she kept moving. She felt the heat drive up through the soles of her thin, slip on sandals.
There were thirteen women and they looked a sorry lot. They ranged in age from late teens to mid thirties, dressed in anything from casual jeans and sweatshirts through dresses to a couple, including Sally, who wore tailored suits. Hair was dishevelled; garments were creased and rumpled, with sweat stains quickly drenching through their clothing. None of them had make-up designed for this climate, what they were using was fast disintegrating in the heat.
Outside the box were some twenty blacks, dressed much the same as the first man but without the medallion. Their canes lashed out casually at the women nearest them, their eyes lecherously seeking out the prettier ones. There were some pained yelps and sharp requests that the men desist — which merely brought broad grins and harder blows.
The sun was not much more than a golden orb in the hazy sky but it generated considerable heat. The humidity was the worst thing; each breath taken was like sucking in steam. The whole atmosphere was unpleasant for women who were dressed for and acclimatised to, the far more temperate London weather.
Elizabeth peered at the captors. She was the most striking of the women and made the more so by the skimpy garb she was wearing. A flimsy, white nylon wrap and a pair of mercifully thick and sensible cotton panties was not the most suitable apparel for the circumstances. She thanked providence for the panties, loaned to her by Sally Stone, which gave her a modicum of decency. She was already the centre of interest of the leering men and she pulled the wrap closer around her; an unfortunate move since it served to press her nipples even more visibly against the sweat soaked material.
Elizabeth had never been prudish and on vacation, she had often sunbathed topless. . Then, she had always ensured that she was at the peak of physical condition and she had had no compunction about flaunting her perfect body on expensive and exclusive beaches. The men on those beaches could look and lust but that was as far as it would go. It had been she who had been in control.
However, this was different — frightening. These men could take their will of her as easily as those who had gang fucked her in London. The beauty, which had previously been an asset, had become a dangerous liability.
The watching blacks looked horrifying. Their flat, ugly faces and thick lips were animalistic and their pleasure in the pain that they were already causing a few of the women was unmistakable. Their bodies were squat but muscular and blue-black in colour. The first man, the one who had called himself Baka, was giving the orders.
“Line up!” he growled. “Line up you ugly bitches Let’s have a look at you. God! What a collection of dirty cows. I can smell your asses from here.”
Sally Stone, the barrister, walked up to him. Elizabeth, realising the danger, put out a hand to stop her but was brushed aside. Sally’s face was set but purposeful. There was no doubting Sally’s guts but Elizabeth knew that she was courting trouble. These men looked even nastier than the thugs back in London.
“You are going to be in the biggest trouble you have ever experienced!” the barrister announced in a clear, confident voice which carried to all those standing around. “Believe me, the British Government -”
Baka backhanded her across the face and Sally went down like a ninepin. She rolled over in the dust, clearly dazed, lip bleeding and mouth open with shock. Both Elizabeth and the black girl went to her assistance under the grinning eyes of the watching Negroes.
“Bugger them!” said the black girl quietly to Elizabeth, trying not to be overheard. “Don’t anger them, though. We’re in a very nasty spot, I think.”
Elizabeth had no intention of angering them. She was still suffering a sore bottom and sorer breasts and had no intention of inviting more beatings.
Sally shuffled her body upwards, clasping a hand to her bleeding lip and looking dazed. The black girl supported her with an arm around her shoulders.
Elizabeth glanced around. It was a depressing landscape. She looked at the box in which they had arrived and guessed that it was an air transport container. Clearly, they had been brought here while rendered unconscious from the injections they had been given in London. It occurred to her that there was no landing strip in sight so they must have been flown to some other point then transported to this spot by other means.
Far away in the distance, she could see what looked like some sort of city. It was too far away to discern much detail but there seemed to be a wall and there was a glint of something gold coloured, possibly a domed building. The only other notable thing to be seen was a white Range Rover parked some hundred and fifty yards away. It had dark windows rendering any sight of the occupants impossible.
Sally was rubbing her face as if to rub away the pain and there was still a dazed expression in her eyes. Baka stirred her with his foot then moved away, allowing Elizabeth and Sally to carry on with their ministrations. The black girl drew a tissue from her bag and dabbed Sally’s bleeding lip.
“Don’t anger them,” Elizabeth hissed at Sally. “There’s no Law Court here.” Then she looked at the black girl. “What’s your name?”
A slight smile appeared on the black girl’s face. “Venus,” she said. “Venus Watts. I’m twenty three years old and a whore by trade.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows, uncertain as to whether the other was joking or not.
Baka’s attention was called to another of the women.
“Please - please can I - I need the Ladies room.” It was one of the younger girls, a tall, slim blonde wearing jeans, tee shirt and trainers. She was fairly hopping from one foot to the other. It was hardly surprising that she was desperate since they must have been in transit for hours. Quite a few of the other women were also looking uncomfortable.
“All right,” Baka grated. “Get on with it then.”
The blonde girl walked towards the container. One of the guards moved forward and kicked her legs from under her. She landed in a sprawled heap in the dust.
“I said ‘get on with it’!” Baka snarled. “I didn’t say go for a walk.”
The strained look on several of the women’s faces changed to horror as they realised the implications. They were expected to squat and relieve themselves in front of the grinning blacks.
It was Venus who took the lead. She left the slowly reviving Sally to Elizabeth, walked a couple of paces to the left, squatted and pulled up the hem of her dress and downed a pair of minuscule thong panties. She urinated, apparently quite unconcernedly, making no attempt to hide the flash of glossy black pubic hair. She fixed her eyes on those of Baka, not challengingly or defiantly, but silently indicating that this was a natural and necessary function that she was not ashamed to perform in public if that was what was necessary.
Her courage did not prevent the blacks sniggering and pointing as she relieved herself. Driven by desperation, several of the other women followed suit though none with the aplomb shown by Venus who having finished, adjusted her clothes and stood, apparently unconcernedly, awaiting further developments. It was noticeable to Elizabeth that the younger women were less inhibited than the older ones. Several of the latter had clearly decided to try to hold their needs in the hope of a more dignified opportunity. Elizabeth doubted if such an opportunity would occur and was grateful that her own bladder was behaving itself. If she had been compelled to down her knickers there would be little left to hide.
Baka was walking over to the side of the container. He kicked a shallow hole in the sand.
“Put your handbags here,” he ordered. “And take nothing from them.”
The women looked at each other in concern. Many would rather have lost their valuables than their handbags. Again, it was Venus who led the way. She picked up Sally’s bag, walked over to the container and dropped it and her own beaded white evening bag at Baka’s feet. The other women slowly and reluctantly followed suit.
As Venus returned to stand by Elizabeth, she spoke out of the corner of her mouth. “My bloody fags are in that bag. God, I could do with one now.”
Baka looked at the line of women. So far, they had given little trouble. His rapid and vicious treatment of Sally had cowed the rest but that initiative must be maintained. This was a pleasurable and oft-rehearsed routine to him and his guards He looked hungrily at the tall, stunning redhead with the marvellous tits showing through her skimpy, near transparent robe. She would have been his first choice but apparently, she had already been roughly handled in London. It was better to select a new subject.
The pretty Negress was a temptation but the majority of this cuntmeat was white so the victim had to be white. He looked at the still dazed Sally. Not the most attractive of them but the most likely one to emerge as a leader if not thoroughly cut down to size. He indicated her to his guards.
“That slag had a lot to say. Now we’ll make her talk louder eh!”
“No!” Elizabeth shouted. “No - please leave her - “
The blacks shoved Venus and Elizabeth out of the way and dragged Sally towards Baka. She shrieked with a combination of fear and rage but she was helpless in their grasp. Both Venus and Elizabeth tried to intervene but they had their legs kicked from under them by the guards. As they crashed to the ground, they were rolled on their bellies and their hands manacled behind their backs. One of the guards sauntered up, bent and flicked the hem of Elizabeth’s short robe up over her buttocks. Casually he yanked down the cotton knickers, showing the red, welted bottom. He rubbed it almost affectionately.
“Fine ass.” he murmured then turned to his fellows, raising his voice. “Hey, come and look at this bitch’s ass.”
Elizabeth ground her teeth in suppressed anger. Again, as it had been back in London, it was she who was being picked out to be publicly humiliated. She could see the lust on the faces of the watching men—the same expression that she had seen on the faces of her ravagers in London.
Several blacks had came over and were staring down at the shapely buttocks. For the moment, all attention focussed on the redhead.
Elizabeth’s bottom was indeed splendid; rounded, firm and creamy skinned with the red welts from her previous thrashing lending it a heightened degree of sensuality. She had widespread nates and an unusually shallow, buttock cleavage. The anus tended to be convex rather than concave e.g. it protruded slightly. Her sex lips were also fairly protuberant and were clearly exhibited in her current posture. But the main feature was that the skin within the buttock cleavage was very dark, contrasting erotically with the creamy perfection of rest of her body.
Baka intervened to stop what would inevitably have become a gangbang.


Reviews

Slavery! by Brian Khast is a waste of time and money. Set in a fictional middle east country where slavery is legal, it tells the (disjointed) story of several kidnapped women who find themselves in the hands of the slavers. You quickly lose any sympathy for anyone, as even the victims are self centered idiots who, you can't help feel, are deserving of their fate. In addition, it turns out the book os the sequal to an equally bad book, explaining why some story lines seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Don't buy this book, it just isn't worth it. 1 out of 5 (dweaver999)

Author Information

Few authors can leave a legacy such as Brian has done.

A compelling author in the bdsm genre, Brian's writings are favourite amongst so many of his avid readers and he is warmly welcomed to A1AdultEbooks.

 

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